


A Pair of Apples

by salamanderssmile



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Children, First Meetings, Kanon for once doesn't ruin everything, M/M, Milo ShipFest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 06:44:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12600624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamanderssmile/pseuds/salamanderssmile
Summary: Being a Gold Saint so young makes finding friends very hard for Milo. He's lonely. Kanon helps someone out (for once).





	A Pair of Apples

Afternoons in the Sanctuary were humid and warm in that time of the year. They made training even more unpleasant than usual. The tree he sat under provided a nice shade, kept him from the worst of the warmth. Not that he wasn't used to it. He had grown up in the Sanctuary, and never really lived anywhere else. The other Saints always treated him different; he never understood quite why. He was just like them, wasn't he? He had trained, and a Cloth chose him. Aiolos always told him that was just what happened happened to himself and Saga. So Milo didn't understand what made him different; from the other Saints, from the boys his age he watched play after having trained for hours.

“I see someone’s wearing his Cloth, just like all the other Gold Saints having an important meeting with the Patriarch.” Someone said from behind him, a voice he knew well, coming from someone he didn't.

“I didn't… want to go.” Milo huffed, leaning his cheek on his arms, crossed over his knees, drawn close to his chest.

“Then why are you sad?” The young man sat by him, throwing his plentiful hair over his shoulder. “Ditching boring responsibilities sounds like a wonderful plan.”

“I'm not sad.” The Scorpio Saint shot back with narrowed eyes that one day would look threatening.

“Oh, pardon me, you clearly are just mindfully brooding like my dear brother.” The last two words were said with an acidic, sarcastic edge.

“Yes, I'm brooding.” Milo didn't quite know what the word meant, but if Saga did it, it couldn't be bad.

“Then do it like him, get your Aiolos and leave me alone, goldilocks.” Kanon rolled his eyes; like most times, Saga was the favorite.

“Aiolos is busy.” The Scorpio Saint said, voice quiet as he looked back to the other children playing not too far away.

“That's why I said to get your--” The younger twin stopped himself, blinking quick for a moment, eyebrows raised as he looked at the boy by his side. “Are you telling me you're just fu... lonely?”

“No! I'm not!” Milo almost shouted, blushing and as angry as his eight years would let him be.

“Who was the last person who played with you?” Kanon asked with a skeptical look.

“Aiolos.” The boy said, frowning. “Before yesterday.”

“By Athena, you're more pathetic than Saga was at your age.” The twin said with raised eyebrows and the same unsurprised expression on his face.

“Hey! Don't call me that!” Milo yelled, jumping onto his feet in a fit of indignation.

Kanon looked at him with eyes that saw too much, and were full of something the young Saint couldn't tell what was. It confused him, and he felt his cheeks heat up in an embarrassing blush. Milo’s hands closed in angry fists, upset out of sheer frustration. He was about to stomp away - he was a Gold Saint, he could stomp away from his elders - when the twin sighed. The older boy took a hair band that was around his wrist to tie his hair up in a ponytail before standing up. Rarely did Milo confuse the twins; they were just too different. Right then, looking up at the younger of the two, the Scorpio Saint would believe anyone if they said he was looking at Saga.

“Alright, if the Patriarch or Saga asks, I'm helping you out of the kindness of my heart.” Kanon said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Take off the Cloth.”

“What?!” Milo blinked his wide eyes in surprise, clutching the diadem on his head with both hands as he flushed red. “No!”

“Fine by me.” The twin shrugged, stepping away.

“No, wait!” The Scorpio Saint yelled at his back, grabbing the older one’s wrist with his hand. “Saga and Aiolos said they would be busy the whole day and--”

“You don't have any other friends.” Kanon stated, matter-of-factly, causing the young boy to half heartedly punch him on the thigh. “Take off your Cloth. Trust me.”

“Saga told me to never trust you.” Milo replied with a frown.

“Saga isn't here. Come on.” The twin took the Scorpio’s intricate diadem between his hands. It was small. Much smaller than it’d be in a couple of years, when Milo had grown out of being a child. The Gold Cloths, as overprotective mothers, molded themselves to the saints they chose. Kanon saw it happen with Gemini everyday.

When the Cloth was assembled as a small scorpion on the ground - likely by its own wishes -, Milo looked up at the taller greek with expectant blue eyes. He looked even smaller, younger, and more childish without the golden suit. But not childish enough for an eight years old. He wasn't allowed to be, after all. Before being a boy, the small blond was the Saint of Scorpio, a symbol of impetuous power and ideals. Perhaps, in another life, Kanon would have thought such burden too heavy for a child, would have abhorred it, and the people who allowed him to bear it. But that was not another life, and he had seen his brother go from teenager to caretaker in a matter of days once duty called. It was the life of a Saint. To be honest, Kanon didn't much care for it.

Crouching with ease, the older boy presented his back to Milo in an obvious invitation for a piggyback ride. Suspicious, but too curious to deny it, he climbed on, throwing the enormous ponytail over Kanon’s shoulder, bringing out a displeased frown on the twin’s face. The blond boy hugged the elder’s neck as he started walking towards the arena where the others played. Their laughter carried over the wind and twisted Milo’s heart in an odd way, like he wanted to smile and cry at the same time. The Gemini waited for the small crowd to notice the two of them before stepping forward. The boys, all around the Scorpio’s age, blinked up at him in blatant curiosity and the natural, childish awe at seeing someone they deemed an adult. A braver one stepped forward, taking a deep breath and opening his mouth wide to speak.

“Who are you?” He asked. His hair was a faded brown that didn't quite fit blond, the same shade as his eyes.

“I'm Gemini Saga.” Kanon knew, had learned long ago, that his smiles were never quite as warm as Saga’s, but none of the children there were privy to that bit of information. He dropped Milo unceremoniously when the boy gasped, ready to proclaim to the whole Sanctuary that Kanon was not, in fact, his own twin. Instead, he groaned at the rough landing, jumping back onto his feet to see the older boy’s frown turned to him. The Scorpio Saint decided to play along, if only for a little bit. No one else needed to know.

“You're Mister Saga? Our teacher said you're a Gold Saint!” The brunette’s mouth, as most of the other children’s, was open in a big “O”.

“So I am. Gemini is the third of twelve Gold Cloths.” Kanon could feel his smile slowly morph into something more sardonic than benevolent, and had to force himself to stop it.

“What are you doing here, Mister Saga?” Another kid, black hair like Shura’s, but with droopy eyes where his were already piercing.

“Nothing important.” Milo was hiding behind his legs, one hand wrapped tight around his ponytail. “The Grand Pope gave me and the other Gold Saints a day off, and I decided to help a friend.”

The answer brought on a flood of questions, and Milo wanted to answer all of them, but didn't know where to start. He was too nervous, hadn't been around this many children ever since Scorpio chose him a year ago. He felt Kanon push his shoulder, but he planted his feet on the ground and refused to move from behind the safety of the twin’s curtain of hair. The questions wouldn't stop, only getting more and more excited as Kanon answered one or another with a clearly growing annoyance. The older boy wasn't used to children, didn't really like talking to them all that much. Milo knew that because he only ever saw the twin avoiding other apprentices as much as he could. Aiolos once told him Kanon wasn't meant to be well known in the Sanctuary, but the Scorpio Saint didn't understand the reason at all, only that it made Aiolos very, very sad.

The chatter seemed to drown Milo, leaving him to tug on Kanon’s pants - because the twins truly hated when someone pulled on their hair - in a plea to leave. But above all others, one question stood out: “What is his name?”, said in a thick accent from so deep within the crowd that Milo was surprised he heard it at all. It prompted him to step out from behind the older boy to look for whoever said it.

“My name is Milo.” His voice seemed to have the power of silencing all others, as most eyes turned from Kanon to him. For most, it was the first time they noticed he was there.

“Milo?” The Scorpio could barely see whoever had said that, but he decided he liked them, whoever they were. “Comme une pomme?”

“What? I didn't understand.” Milo grew up around many languages, but never grasped much beyond ‘hello’s and ‘goodbye’s.

“Your name. It's like an apple.” The same boy spoke again, only the top of his bright red hair above the others visible to Milo.

“It is!” The Scorpio answered proudly. “The Grand Pope says I’ll be sent to train at the Island of Milos in two years!”

That prompted the flood of questions to come back as the children unloaded their boundless curiosity on the Gold Saints. Tactfully, sensibly, Kanon chose to retreat.

“Why don't you go back to playing? Milo can stay with you, and you can ask all this to him after that.” His smile must have looked so forced it was threatening, because the children complied with vigorous nods and no words. Soon enough, they were back to playing, and the last thing Milo saw of Kanon, the twin was briskly walking away from the children, untying his hair with almost frantic movements.

“You're too yellow to be an apple.” A voice said from behind the Scorpio as he watched the elder walk away. “Apples are red and green. I’ve never seen a yellow apple.”

“Maybe you just haven't seen enough apples.” Milo said with a frown. The brunette that had been the first to talk to “Saga” stood there, arms crossed.

“Of course he's an apple. He's golden, like the one from the mythological era.” The redhead spoke to the boy by his side, but looked at Milo while he did so.

“I don't remember any stories about apples made of gold.” The first boy frowned, scrunching up his nose in distaste at being corrected.

“Well, I do.” The other frowned back, crossing his arms. “Athena wanted it.”

“Why did she want it?” Another boy asked, having stopped playing to watch the conversation. One or two of his friends joined in at a wave of his hand.

“It was special.” The redhead answered, succinct and smug, looking at the newcomers.

“But he's not golden!” The brunette exclaimed, almost outraged. “He's just yellow!”

“Yes, I’m golden! I'm a gold Saint!” Milo shouted, stomping at the perceived slight.

All eyes turned to him, then, and his angry frown, eyebrows drawn together and lips scrunched in a pout. They all stared, some blinking fast and others not at all, but every single one was utterly surprised. Slowly, some narrowed their eyes in skepticism. Again, the boy with the faded brown hair spoke up first, stepping forward to stand right in front of Milo.

“Yeah?” He said, arms crossed and looking down his nose. “Then prove it.”

The Scorpio Saint narrowed his eyes, leaning into the other’s personal space in an attempt to seem menacing. His Cosmo simmered, slowly burning more and more into a golden aura that surrounded him, flickering right in front of the brunette’s nose.

“I don't want to.” He said by the time all skeptical gazes had turned into awed stares. The brunette stood there with big wide eyes and red cheeks.

“See?” A thick accent broke the tense silence with the levity of someone who didn't notice the situation. “I told you he was a golden apple like the one Athena fought for. That's why he's so pretty.” This time, Milo blushed alongside the brunette, who by now was as red as the other’s hair.

“He's not  _ pretty _ !” Said the boy standing in front of the Scorpio.

“You were just wrong about him not being golden.” The redhead spoke as if it were all a logical conclusion. “So you're probably wrong about that, too.”

“Should we have to fight for him?” A voice from the middle of the group asked, sparking a loud argument involving everyone else.

Milo’s face remained flushed as all the apprentices loudly proclaimed their merits in hopes of earning the  _ golden apple _ ’s attention. They argued with each other, not hesitating to start play fights to prove themselves. The Gold Saint watched them with a shy, but immensely satisfied smile. Eventually, their claims devolved into “pick me’s”, all doing their best to call his attention with wild arm gestures, jumping up and down. The redhead was arguing with the boy who moments prior was vehemently claiming Milo to not be golden or pretty. It continued until the young Saint crossed his arms and stood on his tiptoes, shouting above all others.

“Stop!” Though it took a moment or two, they eventually did, save for a few stragglers, curious to see who had won. “In the story, who got the apple?”

“It was for the fairest of them all.” The redhead said, quietly, looking at Milo with brown eyes the shade of chocolate.

“Then I'll pick the ‘fairest’.” The blond claimed with a smile. He tapped his chin with his finger, looking over the others with a pensive expression. As carefully as any child would, he considered his options, nodding periodically to seem as if he was making serious assessments in his head. At last, his eyes landed on the boy who had started the whole thing by asking his name. In the light of the setting sun, his brown eyes seemed as red as his hair. Strutting with all the confidence only a child who was the center of attention had, Milo walked up to him.

“What's your name?” The Scorpio Saint asked, standing right in front of the other boy.

“Je m’apelle Albert Camus.” The redhead said in a rush, cheeks flushing the same color as what seemed to be the whole rest of him. “Oh, pardonne-moi. It's Albert Camus, but I like just Camus better.”

“Then I pick Camus.” Milo announced, smug for no other reason than the fact he made the other blush.

“But why?” Another boy whined.

“I'm prettier!” Yelled yet another.

“He's pretty  _ and _ red. Like a real apple.” The blond explained, looking at the group before turning back to Camus, reaching for his hand with a big smile. “I like apples.”

The redhead blinked fast, blush growing darker in his cheeks before he smiled back. “I like them, too.” He said, squeezing Milo’s hand, deciding then, with all the finality of an eight years old, that he especially liked the golden ones.

**Author's Note:**

> my boys smoother at 8 than i am at 19, you go, boys.


End file.
